Only own things you love

A piece of advice has come down to me from my paternal grandfather, a man I never got to meet: don’t own things for the sake of owning them. Own things you love.

It’s a short sentence, but I keep finding more in it.

Love, not utility

Plenty of things are useful, and useful is a low bar. The drawer full of mismatched utensils is useful. So is the cheap tool that does the job until it snaps. Utility alone gives you a life full of stuff you tolerate.

The objects I love are different. They’re usually simple, and they were made by someone who clearly cared. They fit the hand, get better with use, and have enough character that I’d notice if they went missing. It feels like a relationship rather than a transaction.

Own fewer things, and love the ones you own.

An argument for less

Following this rule means owning less, almost automatically. If every object has to earn its place by being loved, most things don’t make the cut. You buy less, you buy better, and you keep things for a long time. Not by coincidence, that’s also the lowest-impact way to live. The greenest object is the one you never have to replace.

How it changes the way I design

The rule turns around when you’re the one making things. If people should only own what they love, then a designer’s job isn’t to make something that gets bought. It’s to make something that gets kept. To me, human-centred design is really just taking that seriously:

• Make it for a person, not a market segment.
• Make it honest about what it is.
• Make it repairable, so the love can outlast the wear.
• Sweat the details people feel before they notice them.

I apply this to kitchen utensils, to tools, to the house I’m building, and to my own work. It’s a strange thing to inherit from someone you never met. It might be the best thing I own.